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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

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She Who Walks the Line Between Part 1

Maul x GreyJedi!Reader

Summary: A lone grey force user has sequestered herself in the furthest regions from the inner rim that could reasonably reach. She never could have fit in with the Jedi and their plethora of useless rules and regulations. Nor could find her way with the Sith and their needless thirst for power and control. After spending years along-side them both and learning all she could she took to the life of a hermit so she could continue her studies in peace. She lived happily until someone’s pain ripped through her inner sanctum. Now restless, she must tip the scales back in the favor of balance.

Word Count: 2085

WARNINGS: Mentions of pain and injury.

NEXT MASTERLIST

So far out in the outer rim it could be considered wild space existed a planet blanketed with jungles and planes. This lonely world is where you called home. Far from wars, from civilization and the unbalanced frivolous problems that existed within this universe. As secluded as it was, this small planet was in perfect balance. Hunters sought their prey and the prey helped one another to survive. Close enough to the ocean that you could smell the salt in the air during a storm; on the border between grass lands and what seemed like infinite jungle, a large stone cottage stood firmly as if it had grown straight from the soil like the crops that lined the east wall.

Your ship was still warm from your recent trip to a more populated system for supplies impossible to come by on your world. This recent trip had left you weary, visions and a voice now plagued your mind. Quiet was all you wanted. Just quiet. Yet screams of agony filled your ears through the force as you sipped your fresh mint tea on the roof of your home. You scanned the planes that spread in front of you as if you could locate the origin of this suffering behind one of the blades of tall grass.

Closing your eyes with the cup still hot between your clasped hands you quieted your mind and reached out into the force.

Blazing heaps of metal.

Sweltering heat.

Foul sulfuric stench.

A man, no, half of one. Red and black flesh, a crown of stained ivory horns.

A mess of steel legs, bellowing raggedly.

“Always remember I am fear. Always remember I am hunter, always remember I am filth, always remember I am... nothing!” His glowing eyes seemed to meet yours. Holding for but a moment.

Slowly your eyes opened, looking around to convince yourself that the man you connected with didn't lay before you now. Satisfied that you were where you had started in your meditation you looked up to the sky, dusty with the falling sunset. You closed your eyes again and whispered to the universe through the force, "find me," casting out reassuring waves of unwavering peace and tranquility towards wherever this wretched soul writhed.

~~~~~

Maul screamed in agony and rage. He couldn't remember anything but a name and a grim mantra that he repeated over and over for a decade hoping against hope to be comforted by it. Although comfort never came, something new spanned out in front of him. For the first time in years, something new graced his vision. A woman.

Glistening eyes heavy lidded but bright. A figure clad in light grey dress sitting in a meditative position. Her plump lips whispered two simple words to him. Find me. For the first time that he could remember he had something he needed to do other than devour and wail. A purpose perhaps.

His steel spider legs twitched as he crawled his way out from his hole in the depths of Lotho Minor. The atmosphere was a thick, dingy fawn. Perfectly akin to the scent of fire and sulfur that he could no longer smell. The grey pressed dirt kicked up from the ends of his jagged limbs as he pulled himself across the hellish landscape. Drop ships came here frequently to dump garbage but every so often a scavenger would come to brave the terrain in search of something of value. As luck would have it, a small ship had landed some time ago, the pilot likely perished to one of the many dangers here on the planet wide dumping grounds. Fear encompassing his mind, he eased toward the abandoned ship. Eight legs clumsily carrying his torso forward. Eyes darting around for the owner of this vessel but none in sight. Cautiously he boarded.

Muscle memory took over as he powered up and took flight. His ship floated stationary just outside the atmosphere, he gazed upon open space for the first time in twelve years, shrinking back into a corner out of fear of the openness after so long in the confined darkness of a hole in the ground. He was loosing the little motivation for momentum that he had and was torn between surging forward and retreating back to what was familiar. Even if he did continue on, he didn’t know where to go.

"I don't know... I don't know... I don't KNOW... where.. to go… WHERE ARE YOU?!" He sobbed. As if to answer his question his vision clouded over and a sense of peace eased his twisted, knotted muscles as well as his fractured mind. Images of tall cliffs overlooking a roaring ocean. The sounds of creatures chattering unseen in a dark jungle lit by bioluminescent fauna. Wind blowing through tall dry grasses. Smoke drifting out of a chimney. The woman he had seen, sitting on a wooden porch.

Without opening his eyes he punched coordinates into the nav computer that if asked to, he couldn't have recited. Hyperdrive activated, he vanished into the unknown, convinced this was his destiny. To find the ghost of a woman he had seen in his squalor.

~~~~~

You woke just before dawn with a start. Something was coming, you weren't quite sure what. You couldn't see it clearly through the force but you could feel the darkness. Cold like the side of a moon that had never been blessed by the sun. The universal scale tipped out of balance and it rang through you like a gong.

Groaning, you pushed the woolen blanket covering your body aside and stood, pulling on a slate-colored cotton dress and slipping your feet into your shoes. You peered out of the transparasteel, the sky was dark but just starting to blue. An hour before sunrise you guessed. Sighing and making your way to the kitchen you put on some caf. If you had to be awake this early at least you'd be caffeinated.

Stepping out onto your porch you could hear the goats you kept nearby bleating alarms at you. Sending them calming waves through the force was all you could do. A moment later you could sense a ship entering the atmosphere. You squinted while shushing the goats from your perch. In all your years on this planet you had never seen another ship aside from your own. You strode to the west side of your home and herded the goats back inside the barn while fetching a large basket. Locking them safely inside before you made your way toward the landing ship. Keeping a hundred meters or so between you and the ramp that extended, eyeing the opening cautiously. Darkness spilled out along with the monstrosity of what was, at one point, a Zabrack. Easily recalling him from your vision you weren't afraid in the least. Perhaps a bit surprised that he had found you so quickly but not afraid.

You had strode half the distance between you and the man before stopping and placing the basket at your side. You watched as he limped over to you, unbalanced in every sense of the word. Physically clumsy and mentally clouded he laughed and sobbed utterly broken.

"I found... you." He groaned hoarsely. Pointing a shaking finger in your direction.

Not saying a word you looked him up and down, lingering where scrap met his organic body. His horns over grown, his eyes bloodshot so horribly there was hardly any white to them. His legs rusting away. His face was gaunt with starvation. This man that stood before you was what was tipping the scale out of balance. Mentally making a decision you nodded, fearlessly and confidently you closed the last of the distance between you and him, gazing right into those burning eyes until his face relaxed a bit out of utter confusion. He hadn’t known what to expect when he found you. He could feel your force signature surrounding you. An aura of equally bright and dark colors swirling together.

"You did find me." You paused for a moment. Turning and walking along the line between the plains and jungle you looked over your shoulder, he hadn't moved.

"Come. We have much work to do with you." You sighed.

He followed you unsteady on those eight spindly legs. How he managed that much force energy to make them walk you had no idea. They definitely weren't powered or connected to his nervous system so he had to be using the force. A Sith by the feel of it, if not a Sith then he was only calling upon the dark side. Not a drop of light permeated from his aura. Yet he followed you silently.

~~~~~

This woman he followed, he couldn't sense or smell any fear in her. But he could sense something. She was strong with both the light and the dark sides of the force. So strong that he could feel it coming off her like a reactor. He eyed the two lightsabers that clung to her legs. The dress she wore slit all the way up both sides. They didn't hang from a belt like his used to but rather were strapped to each if her thighs. Her hair draped down her back, glinting in the very early morning sunrise.

He followed this woman snarling occasionally in pain but otherwise silent until they reached a cliff that overlooked the ocean. The waters were calm, the smell of salt on the air familiar but he couldn't place a memory with it.

She turned to meet his eyes and he froze. "Stay put for a moment I need to collect clay from the cliffs" and without waiting for his response she stepped over the edge and landed gracefully on a ledge fifty feet below. He dared not move even to look and see what this woman was doing. Fear starting to spread through him again he missed his hole in the bowels of Lotho Minor.

Just after he thought the thought she leapt high above and over him, feet touching down silently. He still jumped back defensively and growled. The woman sighed and balanced the large basket now packed high with clay atop her head and beckoned him back the way they came with two fingers and a nod.

Slowly once again he followed but this time he spoke.

"Are you a jedi?" He hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Gods no," she replied curtly.

"Are you Sith then?"

"Wrong again." Without looking back at him she replied in a sing song tone.

He followed her silently in thought. Listening to birds chirp in the jungle to his left.

"What.. are you...?" He dared to ask almost whispering.

She didn't reply to him until her home was in view again.

"I am the one who walks the line between the dark and the light. Not a jedi, not a Sith but something so much more." She gazed off into the horizon, her mind wandering to places he could not see.

"What do you want with me?" He snarled yet still he followed.

"You are no longer a Sith yet the darkness rages inside you like a storm. It is upsetting the balance and quite frankly, I've been bored so I'm not going to just kill you off. I'm going to bring you back from the precipice." She stopped and turned to face him.

"But first I'm going to fix this mess." She said tapping one of his hideous legs.

He didn't know what was to come or become of him but for the first time in a very long time he felt something that wasn't fear or rage. He didn't know what to call it but he was glad for a second that he found this planet.

#maul x reader #star wars #grey jedi #jedi knight #sith warrior #jedi reader #please love me #series #darth maul #star wars maul #swtcw au #star wars au #fanfic #maul fluff #star wars fluff

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electrician-ryde-district · 6 years ago

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"I-Connect" By interconnecting the signal wiring of Smoke Alarms together, all Smoke Alarms will sound if any one Smoke Alarm detects smoke. Giving occupants valuable time in the event of a fire.

Working Smoke Alarms Save Lives!

For more info visit

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More about this Smoke Alarm Emergency Repair Job in The Inner West of Sydney done earlier today.

#Smoke Alarms Sydney #Smoke Alarms Inner West Sydney #Smoke Alarm Replacement Sydney #Smoke Alarms Inner Sydney Area

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westcorkelectrical-blog · 4 years ago

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Westcork Electrical

Westcork Electrical is a fully licenced and insured electrical company servicing Inner West Sydney and its surrounding suburbs. Westcork offers a wide range of services including switchboard upgrades, led downlights, smoke alarms, RCD/safety switch installs, electrical fault finding, ceiling fans, power point installs, indoor & outdoor lighting, TV wall mounting installation, and rewires. For all your minor or major electrical needs, Westcork electricians have got you covered.

https://www.westcork.com.au/

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talesofwight · 5 years ago

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The Roving Wanderer and the Shining Stone

((Okay I’mma be real here, I started out to write the story about how Ruff got his gunblade and just GNB-boi in general, also introducing the Hrothgar I created for the story. So all was well and good. Then I realised I had written a 6000-odd word origin story. And I’m sure nobody really is gonna read that expect a few dedicated good beans but I’m still gonna post it, all but one paragraph under the cut.))

Darkness was all around him. Deep, murky and impenetrable. He heard voices cackle in maddening rounds permeating the inky void. He swore he saw hands made of coalesced smoke reach out and try to grab him. He tried to scream and resist the encroaching abyss, but every time he opened his mouth to do so, little more than a wheeze trickled out, as if his lungs were being forced not to move. He could do nothing, and he felt so alone. So alone...

His eyes snapped open suddenly, his body lurching into a sitting position with a breathless gasp as he surveyed his surroundings in a haze of panic, his right hand blearily clutching for the hilt of his sword laying nearby. Only the sound of rushing blood filled his ears until his conscious mind became more aware. He looked around again; it was still dark out. The small outcropping of rock he had camped under served him well as the rain fell about it. His campfire was fading. He must have been asleep for several hours -- dawn would soon be upon him. Not soon enough. He thought, rubbing his eyes slowly with his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Directing a final glance into the baleful night beyond the reach of the fire, he let out a quiet sigh and lay back down upon the rocky ground he had been sleeping on. It was far from the familiar comfort of his feathered bed, but it was not all that unpleasant either. He closed his eyes and slowed his breath, as he fell into the last vestiges of slumber he could before the light stole over the land.

How long now had he been on the road? Time was elusive on trips such as these, and often they mattered little to him in the grand scheme. It wasn’t as though he yet had business remaining back in Eorzea that needed attending. Things had become quiet in his life in the wake of his last formal outing. A conspiracy here, a greater voidsent there, and a fight for his life later, and Rufus had been changed greatly in the space of only a short time. His body became thin and frail, his mind called back to painful memories, and his spirit was... something. Not even he fully understood what had become of him in that regard. Often, he thought of that part of him that existed both within and without simultaneously. Since that fateful day, he no longer heard the voice of his inner darkness given form. No longer felt its encompassing and oddly peaceful presence. It felt as though he was missing a part of him, as well as a dear friend -- or something more. It took many long months to recover from the ordeal, and not even fully at that.

The weather turned gradually colder the more he headed in a northerly direction. It was fairly difficult to get lost, as Rufus had elected to roughly follow the coastline of the Northern Empty on his sojourn. To his mind, it was far enough west of Garlemald not to be bothered by much in the way of Imperial patrols. And to his credit, thus far he had seen none of the would-be conquerors, even in the provincial settlements he passed near but rarely through. He had heard tales on the road however of rebellions cropping up in myriad places since the reclamation of both Doma and Ala Mhigo. He had even rejoiced some upon the proclamation of the latter. He was quite sure his father’s soul - wherever it had ended up - was thrilled for that bit of news too.

As it was, Rufus was content to keep to himself on his wanderings. The explorer’s spirit within him was thrilled to finally be exploring a new place. Even one with as many troubles as Ilsabard was currently dealing with. With each river he saw, every mountain, every valley, and every grassy hillock, he felt a little livelier in his steps, even as his weakened body demanded he rest far more often than he would have liked. He elected to see these periods of rest as a blessing in disguise, using the restful moments to forage for food. His compact fishing rod turned out to be his journey’s saving grace and the reason he could avoid towns for so long, save to refresh his water supply. And even those trips were short-lived at best. He simply chalked it down to outsiders being not entirely welcome in such places, especially at such pivotal times in the region’s history, though they had been courteous enough when it came to the exchange of coin.

What started as days quickly became a sennight. After the second sennight he soon enough lost count of the passage of time. On one of his many rests by a flowing freshwater brook, he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in the reflection of the rushing waters and noted his altogether scruffy appearance. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, and his jaw was covered in a patch of beard growth that was not unsubstantial. The look of a roving wanderer... He mused to himself, setting off after he had rested and drunk from his waterskin. The rain from the early morning had all but dissipated at this point and the sun was streaking through gaps in the grey clouds. It was around noon time by Rufus’s reckoning. He plucked a handful of berries from a pouch on his belt and snacked on them as he stood up and headed onward, ever with the coast in his line of sight. He was grateful for the sunlight, for what little warmth it offered in the increasingly frigid locales he found himself in. He would have to stop at a town soon and see if he could not buy himself a thick coat to ward off the worst of the chill. If not, try to hunt an animal and bring the pelt to a leatherworker to have one made. “Doubt I’ll get very far on hunting, armed with a sword and a few throwing knives.” He uttered as he strode, unaware he was talking to nobody. Much had changed in the moons prior to this day.

The next day taxed Rufus more than he could anticipate. A freezing wind blew in from the sea, and with it came a flurry of snow blanketing the land around him. He hadn’t encountered a town in his travels so far, and thus had no opportunity to purchase new clothing. His teeth chattered and clacked against each other in the frigid air. His clothes were wet from the snowfall and his body began to protest ever more loudly against continuing forward, even if attempting to turn back now likely meant an unhappy fate at the hands of the elements. No, he had come some way since yesterday and the likelihood of finding a town - a village - a hamlet - anything ahead just had to be high. He pressed on as much as he could bear to, the chill in the air seeping deeper into his bones with each passing minute.

Things looked bleaker by the moment, until he could have sworn he saw something in the distance -- it was difficult to tell, as his vision had begun to blur from fatigue, but he could see what he thought was a building; little more than a shack, really. It was small but was standing against the snow-layered landscape. Without a moment’s hesitation, he rallied the remainders of strength within him and hurried towards the structure with as much haste as he could muster. When he drew closer, hope sprung in his heart as he could clearly make out the dimensions of the abode. Far from anything extravagant, the small shack looked at first glance to be abandoned, but not in terrible shape. Enough to shelter him from the sudden flurry around him. There was a small window on the exterior of the dark wood structure, the glass frosted heavily but it allowed him to peer inside. He could note nothing within speaking of any occupation, save at least a few items of furniture. A desk, a chair, and a cot. Perfect, he thought to himself. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief that froze and hung as a cloud in the air before dispersing. With little pause he moved to the door and reached to try the handle. It shifted but offered some resistance as it seemed to have frozen shut. Bothered, but undeterred, Rufus held the handle to open the door, then pushed with his left shoulder against the middle of the door. He felt it give way a few ilms, along with a loud crackle of ice. He smiled softly and offered a quiet thanks to Nymeia for gifting him this arm. He wound back and threw his weight against the door again and this time it proved enough as he forcefully shunted the door open wide. He eased off and let out a happy breath, only to recoil as a sickly-sweet stench assailed his nostrils. It was an unpleasant one, and yet an all-too familiar one. It was the smell of death.

Predictably, Rufus was on-edge the moment the smell reached him. Without pause he drew his longsword at his side from its sheath, gripping it as tightly as his cold-numbed fingers would allow. The interior was dark, but what light bled in from the outside was enough to make out the vagaries of it. He stood ready; coiled and wound like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey, eyes scanning his surroundings with such careful and critical intent that little would escape his note. The only sounds he made were that of quiet breathing, and the slow creak of his footsteps against the floorboards. It was eerie, far too much so. He checked his left and found nothing. He checked the opposite side of the room, half-obscured behind the open door, and he saw something. On the floor, slumped against the far wall like a drooping sack of popotoes, he saw a figure - a person. The skin prickled in alarm as he made out the shape. Even sitting, this person was a veritable giant next to him, and thick set like a roegadyn. A moment passed, a breathless silence, and the figure didn’t budge or respond to his presence. Rufus blinked softly in confusion, the alarums in his mind quieting down gradually. “Hello?” He risked revealing his presence to this person in a soft and unthreatening voice. He was met with no response.

To say he was surprised was an understatement. There he was, frozen within and ilm of his life. Finding sanctuary at the last moment, only to discover its prior occupant seemingly dead as a doornail within. Slowly, he pushed the open front door closed, satisfied it was stuck in place sufficiently. Getting out would be a task for later, he reasoned with himself. The interior for the most part was dry, yet the chill still reached him even here. He was hesitant to at first, but he soon turned his gaze away from the unmoving corpse on the other side of the room and began to search the shack for anything with which to warm himself. There was a candle on the desk he had spied before. It looked to have been lit before but only for a short time as most of the wick was still intact. He fumbled with numb fingers - on his right hand at least - as he searched for the flint and steel contained within another of his pouches. None could say he was not prepared for a trip. With little difficulty, he lit a flame on the candle and held it close, basking in what little warmth it offered. It was the first real heat he had enjoyed since the campfire two nights ago, and the soft, warming glow brought a measure of peace to his heart. He quickly set about using the dim light of the candle to search the room, and much to his delight discovered a small bundle of blankets hidden away. He wrapped himself without hesitation and uttered a quiet prayer to the Twelve for giving him this gift. With his most basic needs met, he turned his weary gaze upon the unmoving figure in the room. Death did not disturb him like it does for many. He had seen it a great deal of times over his life, and in many increasingly distressing fashions the likes of which mortal man should likely not bear witness to - such is the way of the voidsent - yet there was decidedly something unusual about this corpse. As he drew close and inspected it - “him” he reasoned, based on the build - the form was quite unlike anything he had seen before. The face was elongated with a muzzle, like a large cat’s, with ears of a similar matching variety. The body, which was astoundingly broad, as covered entirely in fur where it was exposed. Juxtaposing its bestial form, it wore a long leather overcoat, with matching leather gloves and boots that seemed to be reinforced in some areas with small plates of metal. Light yet protective.

Rufus’s mind swam in astonishment. A race such as this with apparent refinement took him greatly by surprise. Why had he never heard of such people before? Whatever the case, this one was most certainly deceased. The candlelight illuminated the discolouration in the man’s attire, stained in crimson as it was. A great, heinous gash was wrought in his abdomen and he clearly bled out from it in this place. The thought made Rufus sad for a moment, though he chased it away with a shake of his head. He surveyed the area around the corpse closer and noted a small leather journal resting on the creature’s thigh, half-open and cover up. Even though this body was beyond all possible hope of shifting by itself, Rufus yet moved slowly as he took up the journal, plucking it with the most delicate of touches. To his dismay, it seemed as though a decent portion of the pages had been covered in blood, yet gratefully, he was able to make out the most recent entry:

“Bran,

These are to be my final words; I pray they reach you. I had been scouting the area for a week before I discovered an Imperial scouting party. I tracked them, as you taught me. Yet in my foolishness I made a mistake and was discovered. I fought until I could no more, but I was struck grievously, and I do not believe I will survive. I have found a small shack to spend my final bells in. At least it is warmer. If you find this, you must know that they are already aware of our movements. You should flee north, or south... anywhere but here. The people are not our friends. They only seek security for their own people, I do not blame them. But it is likely they will lead the Imperials to you. You must be careful. But then, you always are.

Goodbye, my dearest companion. I go now to be with our Queen. Be strong.”

Rufus looked back to the fallen body after he finished reading, he felt pity on this man. To die here in this place, without being able to see a person he cared for one last time. He had been on the receiving end of such news before and knew that pain all too well. Someone was searching for this man. And the thought that they might never find him twisted the knife even deeper. He closed his eyes and uttered a silent prayer to the Twelve to see this man’s soul safely departed from his mortal coil. To go to where his “Queen” was. He knew not the meaning, of course. But he knew it mattered. As he opened his eyes a brief glint caught his eye underneath the man’s coat, on the opposite side of the wound. He lifted the fabric gently to reveal a small, yellow-ish stone sitting on the floor. The only light in the room bar that from the window was that of the candle in his hand, yet this stone seemed to shine as a light source in its own right. He hesitantly moved his hand to inspect it, and quickly felt a surge of aether streaming from the thing. It swelled and expanded the closer his fingers came until it became all but overbearing, yet he felt unnaturally pulled towards the stone, as if it was “calling” to him. He hadn’t even laid a touch upon it when suddenly a barrage of images flashed through his mind, searing him like a brand of fire. It was too much to make sense of in that moment, and the pain throbbing in his head was too overpowering. At least, it was for that instant. Then, as quick as it had come, it faded away again to nothing. He felt nauseous and unsteady, but steeled himself against the possibility of toppling over, clutching at his head with his right hand until the unpleasant feelings ebbed away like water on a shore. He had experienced something like this before, though it was altogether darker and more dreadful than this particular experience. At second glance, he noted an unusual symbol seemingly carved upon the face of the stone he had almost touched. In that moment he knew what he was beholding and was drawn to -- it was a soulstone.

Those peculiar little things. This was the third one he had encountered in his life. The first, given as a reward for his dedication. The path abandoned when he came upon the second, an overbearing force that controlled his very life and all but consumed him. Now this... “Shite...” He whispered, placing his hand on the soulstone and picking it up. He inspected it in the soft light, squinting hard at is as if its facets yet had some secret to divulge unto him. When nothing came of it, he looked to the fallen body, then back to the stone, then sighed aloud. “No sense in leaving this here, I suppose...” He thrust the stone into a pouch with a reluctant sigh, then returned to surveying the ground around this poor dead man. In doing so, he noted the sheen of the light bouncing off a metal blade. He drew the candle closer and saw before his eyes the unusual shape of the weapon become clear. There was a blade, yes, like that of a traditional sword. Something familiar. Yet there was no fuller on this one. That did not immediately strike him as unusual, though as he drew closer to where the cross guard would convert into the hilt, he saw a most outlandish design. An odd cylindrical shape turned into a curved handle, shaped to fit a wielder’s grip. Contained below the grip was a trigger, as seen on the firearms of the machinists of Ishgard. From the very end of the handle hung a chain upon which an emblem likely stood, yet there was nothing there. “Just what -were- you...?” Rufus asked of the corpse. Surprising nobody, the body gave no response. Its secrets were carried with it to the beyond. Huffing his frustration at the sudden abundance of questions, Rufus reached out and wrapped his digits around the grip of the weapon, slowly and carefully lifting it up to the pale light to inspect it more closely. It was simultaneously familiar and completely alien to him, such that he was fascinated by it. He drew up to his full height and stood away from the body, as he wound back his arm and took a practice swing at the air before him. The sword, for its credit, was surprisingly light. Maybe it was even lighter than his longsword. In light of his recent loss in physical fitness, it even felt more suited to him than his current weapon. He felt... tired, suddenly. The events of the day caught up with him swiftly, as he let the tip of the bladed-weapon dig into the floorboards, he let it rest against the nearby wall and turned his attention to the corpse again. “Wouldn’t be right, leaving you here like this...” He whispered, stripping one of the blankets from around him. That little sacrifice he could afford, as he slowly and gently covered the deceased beast of a man in it. He would have to wait here until the snowstorm passed, staring at the body of a dead man was not his ideal way of spending the next few bells.

It took a little over a day for the storm to pass. Day had faded into night, and when it grew late, Rufus drifted off into sleep wrapped in a personal cocoon of blankets. He barely batted an eye at the other occupant in the room prior to his slumber, and darkness took him. He dreamed, but it was quite unlike the dreams he often found himself plagued by. He saw images, quite as he did when he touched the soulstone. Though they were slower, he could take bits and pieces from what he saw. Hands clasped. Anger. Shame. Two against all. Quiet. Life. Laughter. Love. Blood. Fear. It was all a jumbled mess running through his mind, of a life or lives lived long before he had found the stone. Such was the way these things worked.

When he awoke, it was morning already. The storm had given away, as a clear sky shone above and filled the cabin with a wondrous light so starkly different to how it seemed before. He shook the sleep from his head and emerged from his swaddle of blankets, peering out to check on the other occupant in the room, as if expecting him to have gone somewhere in the night. “Those memories I saw... they were yours, yes?” He began to question the body, for all the good it would do, “I saw... a lot of things. This ‘Bran’ person, he clearly means a lot to you. I don’t know how recent your passing was, but... if I find him, he should know your fate. I... will try to find him. Especially if he is in danger.” He felt a warm pulse flow through his body, emanating from somewhere deep within. It was a curious sensation, though far from an unwelcome one. It felt like approval of his intent. It assured him he was taking the correct action. “I’ll bring this to him.” He said, moving to where he had left the unusual sword the night before. He picked it up by the handle, testing a swing in the air once again before bundling it tight in a blanket and tying it in a sling onto his back. He checked to make sure it was secure, then took up the bloodied journal and placed it in his pack. After having done so he finished covering himself further in the remaining blankets for after all, while the sun was out and in its glowing rays could be found warmth, but there was still a nip in the air, and he didn’t much want to be caught ought like he was before. It was just a temporary measure until he could find a nice, warm winter coat.

He bid the dead man a silent farewell, regretting not even knowing his name. He considered burying him, but it seemed like a better idea to let this “Bran” figure see to that, after offering him the effects to prove his passing. Yet he would first have to find this person. In all likelihood, he surmised that the person he was looking for was of the same distinct race as the dead one, so as fortune might have it, they likely stood out in a crowd, so to speak. As he emerged into the brisk morning air, he felt a wave of relief washing through him to be free of the cabin and filled his nostrils with the scent of the clear air, free of the overbearing whiff of putrescence that permeated the cabin. As he surveyed the landscape, he could see that the melted snow revealed a dirt path wrought from the door to the cabin leading further inland. Reasoning that it might lead to a town, and perhaps a warm meal, he hastily set off down the road towards a thick copse of snow-bearing trees. It was still fairly quiet at this bell. Late enough that nocturnal predators had retreated to their dens, and most other animals had yet to awaken. This did however lend a distinctly unsettling feeling to his trek through the woods. He saw nothing, yet he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing stiff, his sense of danger quite refined over the many years working in a field that demanded such a skill to survive. He was sure there were eyes watching him somewhere out there, but he could not find them. Never one to be easily cowed, he followed the path on further until he finally emerged from out of the thicket. There, he emerged upon a rolling plain and there not a few malms in the distance was the unmistakable sight of a small hamlet. His heart all but lept with joy upon seeing it, and his stomach growled in protest of wanting a filling meal. He was not like to deny it and hastened on forwards.

A malm or so into his trek, even in this wide-open space, Rufus yet felt a piercing gaze boring a hole through him. He tried to pay it no mind, but the ever-present sense of danger only grew with each step he took. His hand gradually drifted to the hilt of his longsword, readying himself to draw and defend on the turn of a moment. The path he walked was somewhat raised, with two fairly steep grassy slopes on either side, and ahead of him there were a number of fairly large rock formations strewn around. At few angles of possible attack, and he could not watch them all. The eyes that stared at him -- they had intent to kill, it was overbearing now. Rufus clenched his jaw tightly as his senses screamed of danger immediately nearby. Suddenly, a shadow overcame his vision. Looking up, he had just enough time to make out the vague figure of a large creature descending upon him with a bladed weapon drawn and pointing towards him. He sprung like viper and bounded backwards with barely enough time to avoid the falling sword which crashed into the earth with a tremendous crack. Its wielder bounded onto his feet with a roar and fixed blazing amber eyes upon Rufus, fierce and full of hatred. This one looked quite similar to the dead one he had encountered before, in dress at least. He had deep, ochre-coloured fur, though overpowered by a mane of nearly stark-white hair atop his head. His scarred, feline maw was parted in a baleful snarl flashing long white fangs as he afforded Rufus little time to respond as he leapt forward and swung for him with a bladed weapon not dissimilar to what he had found in the cabin before. Before Rufus could offer a word to try to dissuade the fight, he found himself drawing his longsword and raising it to parry. The comparatively slim blade shuddered in protest as the weapons clashed and sung with a discordant song of scraping metal. He mustered his force and pushed back against his aggressor, throwing him slightly backwards with just enough time to give Rufus a much-needed reprieve to gain his footing. He cursed his lack of heavy armour adding to his centre of mass and making him all-around sturdier. Dexterity never was his strong suit... Without another moment of waiting, the enraged bestial man lunged for him, wielding his weapon with a shocking amount of finesse for someone of his size and build. Again, Rufus swing his blade with intent to parry. Running into two of this particular race so quickly could not be coincidence, so he had no intent to harm the man if he could yet be reasoned with, though that option seemed less and less likely by the minute. When the blades met this time, there was a great blinding flash as the cylindrical part of the other man’s weapon expelled what seemed to be a thunderous explosion. Much to Rufus’s abject surprise, the stranger’s weapon gained an unnaturally present capacity for destruction. With little effort, the weapon tore through Rufus’s steel and shattered it, scattering shards of metal in every direction. The sheer force of the impact sent the broken blade flying free of his unprepared grip. He staggered backwards, shocked and in awe of the weapon on display before him. That awe didn’t last, as he rather quickly noted that the figure was readying to swing again. He was defenceless this time, not even his prosthetic arm could block a force like that.

The other blade! A voice shouted in the back of his head. Adrenaline surged in his body as he reached for the handle of the weapon on his back, just barely peeking out of the cloth sling he had prepared. With a forceful pull, he tore the sharp blade free of the flimsy fabric. It was much thicker than a standard longsword, or even a broadsword. Surprisingly adept for blocking, he thought, as he pressed his left hand flat to the blade and thrust it forward, intercepting the oncoming strike with barely a hair’s breadth separating the aggressing weapon and his skull. He leapt back again after the swing had gone wide and steadied himself, holding his new weapon in both hands, parallel to his upright form. “You... you scum!” The unknown figure spoke with a tone of rage, the bestial nature of his appearance only further accented by the vicious growl in his voice. “You killed him and stole his blade. How dare you?!” He bellowed, readying himself to strike again. “I didn’t kill anyone!” Rufus shot back in protest, shaking his head hard. “The man was already dead when I found him!” “Lies from the pit of your rotten heart!” The other shot back. Rufus witnessed the sight as puzzlingly, the cylindrical portion of the weapon wielded by the furious foe snapped open. He didn’t know what, but he saw something being pushed inside before it snapped shut again. “Please, listen to me!” Rufus tried again to reason, fumbling for the place where he had stored the journal prior to his departure from the cabin. “I can prove it, if you stay your assault! Gods alive...” He honestly hadn’t expected that to buy him a moment, but to his surprise, the creature only stared murderously at him. He was still prepared to attack on a moment’s notice, but short of actually announcing his intention to kill Rufus, he made no further action. This prompted a held breath of relief to leave Rufus’s parted lips as he held the blade aloft with one hand and reached into his pouch with the other, producing after a moment the aforementioned journal. He raised it up to let the stranger see it clearly in the light of the day. Recognition flashed in his eyes, before the fury returned to them. “I promise you, this isn’t some trick -- he left you a message before he passed. Actually, I set out with intent to find and deliver this news to you... seems you beat me to the punch.” He remarked, gingerly tossing the blood-soaked journal in the direction of the burly menace. It landed before his feet, kicking up a small amount of dust from the path below it. The other eyed it suspiciously, yet when Rufus lowered his aggressive stance and thrust the blade he wielded into the ground, the other took the show of honesty as the moment to take up the proffered journal. Rufus still felt an eye upon him at all times as the other man read from the legible entry. He watched as the fury quickly turned to upset, to grief and heartbreak. Where an aggressive force of a man once stood, a shattered, broken man remained. With no words uttered, he fell to his knees and held the journal close to his heart. letting loose a most heartrending wail of pain that seemed to echo all around the air. Rufus could do nothing but watch, transfixed in sympathy.

The mournful cries soon turned to quiet sobs; the hulking form of the man seemed smaller somehow in that moment. Surprisingly fragile given his stature. After some many moments had passed, Rufus decided to finally step forward, his expression wrought in one of sadness. He held aloft the blade he had taken from the fallen man, holding it in the flat of both palms to offer outward. “I’m sorry for taking this, and his other effects. I sought only to return them to you.” He began quietly and gently. “His soulstone... I felt it resonate when I made my intent to do so clear. It seemed the right path.” The feline man looked up to him - although event knelt, he was around Rufus’s height still - those already enlarged eyes seeming huge for how close he was now, shimmering like two great pools of water from tears threatening to fall. “Pray... forgive me for attacking you...” He began, choking back sobs in his voice. “I thought-- well... I did not think.” “I... understand. It’s alright. Please, don’t let that trouble you any further.” Rufus responded in as empathetic a tone as he could muster. He was slightly bothered about the loss of his sword, yet such could be replaced if necessary. “You said... his stone, it resonated with you?” The other broke Rufus free of his thoughts. “Oh, I-- uh... yeah. I’ve... had it happen a few times before. I know the feeling. Would you like it back?” Rufus said, tilting his head softly and raising the blade in his arms to indicate he needed a free hand to do so. The man deliberated long and silently, staring deeply into Rufus with eyes that had seen much. Up close, Rufus could tell quite clearly that he was looking upon an older man of this race. Battle-scarred and weary, even more so now. “...No,” he finally said. “No... I don’t believe that will be necessary. If Gaut’s soulstone resonated with you... you should keep it. I have no use for it. You may keep his gunblade too, as apology for... shattering your sword.” “Did you just-- a gunblade?” Rufus responded in shock. He was familiar with the Garlean-crafted weaponry. He even had a ruined one hanging above his mantle. But this was far unlike anything of theirs he had ever seen. “Think you of the weapons wielded by those of import in the Empire? Pale imitations.” He huffed with a strong note of pride. “You will find these are quite different.” The stranger spoke, slowly picking himself up from the ground, now returning to towering over Rufus by the difference of a few heads. “I could explain the particulars to you, if you are willing. But first... I would see to burying Gaut. If you wish to know more, I would ask that you wait for me at the town ahead. I will return before long.” Rufus had little chance in the way to respond before the figure shuffled around him, stowing his own gunblade upon his back and slowly, with a gait that showed how weary he was, made back along the path Rufus had tread. Before he could get too far, Rufus turned and raised his voice to address him. “I’ll be in town. What do I call you? Are you Bran?” “Brankothgar Leyvasch.” He responded, pausing briefly to look back at Rufus. “I’m Rufus -- Rufus Wightman. I will see you soon. Safe travels until then.” He returned in a voice of sincerity. It was met with a subtle, slow downward tilt of the elongated head by Bran. A nod, Rufus perceived it as. He returned the gesture with one of his own and turned around to face the town in the distance.

His head still swam with the sudden amount of information dropped upon his lap. He looked to the gunblade in his arms in thoughtful quiet, before sighing and resolving himself not to overthink the situation before Bran could return and avail him of his many questions. He leaned down to pick up what scraps of cloth remained from the blanket sling he made for the gunblade, tied them to the metal frame, and attached them to his pack as securely as he could. A temporary solution until he learned more. He spared a final glance in the direction of Bran, who had now all but disappeared down the path towards the treeline, then turned back to start back on the path.

He needed to rest and have a hot meal as soon as possible.

#ffxiv #ic story time #it's a rufus story #aw shit #hyur #midlander #balmung #Rufus Wightman #Brankothgar Leyvasch #i'm really shocked I did all of this #6000 words is a lot for me #dang #formatting is maybe not as clean as it could be #but i mean #i blame tumblr

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smoke-alarms-inner-west-sydney · 2 months ago

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replacesmokealarmssydney · 10 months ago

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beepingsmokealarmsydney · 6 months ago

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ilcavallinoelectrical-blog · 5 years ago

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notbang · 6 years ago

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gimme the commentary for you're the fire and the flood, anything you have to say about the section starting with "He wakes to the acrid burn of smoke in his nostrils and his throat, one of the overhead smoke alarms apparently clinging to the last of its battery power long enough to sound a pathetic wail in warning." and ending on “Drink some three year old tequila with me?”

send me a scene from one of my fics, and I’ll give you the equivalent of a dvd commentary on it! - you’re the fire and the flood

He wakes to the acrid burn of smoke in his nostrils and his throat, one of the overhead smoke alarms apparently clinging to the last of its battery power long enough to sound a pathetic wail in warning. His first foggy thought is Rebecca, his arms reaching for her out of repressed habit but coming up empty, and when he pushes himself bleary eyed up onto his elbows on the couch he can’t see her on the bed, either. Once he discerns the soft grey haze is filtering out from the kitchen he scrambles to his feet in a panic.

Since one of the central conceits of this fic is that Rebecca has been in jail for the past three years -- and Rebecca has cut off all communication with everyone for the past two -- something I was playing around with was the jarring sense for the both Rebecca and Nathaniel that they’ve gone from zero contact to being trapped not only together but in this fucked up time capsule Nathaniel has left of their stuff in his apartment after moving out (dude, get some fucking therapy, stat). So for Nathaniel in particular, the memory overload is wreaking a little a havoc on his dreams (which may or may not also have something to do with those pesky Santa Ana Winds). He’s just spent the night dreaming of a moment they shared back when they were together, so when he’s pulled from slumber Rebecca is immediately on his mind.

She’s flattened against the wall when he finds her, eyes wide and vacant as she stares at the sink where the flames are already starting to lick up the wall. When he calls her name she’s unresponsive. He tries again, rougher this time.

“Rebecca.”

She snaps out of it, then, coughing and crumpling against him before mirroring his movements and tucking her mouth into the crook of her elbow.

“The water,” she chokes out, batting helplessly at the smoke. “There’s no water coming out.”

Since it’s the apocalypse and all, we had to up the stakes a little beyond trapped in an apartment with someone you don’t want to be trapped inside an apartment with and cut off the water supply. And the most [in]convenient moment for that to become apparent was of course when Rebecca decided lighting a small fire in the sink was a good idea.

He nudges her aside and goes for the rug in the entryway, pushing past her to get back to the sink and slapping at it with the heavy fabric until he’s managed to smother most of it out, the sides of it singeing in the heat but the lack of oxygen ultimately winning out. When the smoulder is contained to the basin again he returns with one of her saucepans of water, extinguishing the remnants with an angry hiss against the stainless steel.

I just... really liked the idea of Rebecca being accidentally prepared for the apocalypse? Being in jail for three years has affected her in different ways, and I think she’s learned to hone the more manic aspects of her personality into a very specific brand of survival. The apartment ends up fully stocked with food because she goes kind of overboard hoarding all the things she’s missed out on eating for the past three years (and incidentally, things Nathaniel wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, which was hilarious to me). They still have water because she took some advice she heard on the news (which she’s been obsessing over as a means to reacquaint herself with the world) to the extreme. Plus I enjoyed the mental image of this already ridiculous mishmash apartment being added to with a minefield of miscellaneous vessels filled with water.

He drops the pot in the sink with an aggressive clank before turning back to face her.

She hasn’t moved from the spot the entire time, still stood frozen and numb, and he grunts in annoyance before hoisting her into his arms and carrying her out of the smoky kitchen over his shoulder, finally waking her up.

“Put me down,” she growls, pummelling him angrily with her fists. “I’m fucking serious. Put me down, you asshole.”

He deposits her unceremoniously back on her feet near the foot of the bed, sidestepping before she can hit him again and raising his hands defensively.

“Are you insane? What was that?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I was stupid. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What were you even doing? Did you start that fire on purpose?”

So this entire fic is basically just one continuous fire metaphor for Rebecca’s inner tumult. I’ve always been intrigued by her association with fire in canon, and in a way this was a 22k extrapolation of that. As we know, Rebecca has a tendency to set things on fire when she wants them seared out of her life, and apparently being stuck in the middle of a wildfire apocalypse is no exception. In fact, I kind of imagine she drew inspiration from the wildfires raging outside when she made the very deliberate decision to start her own fire in the sink. This time, she’s not burning her ex boyfriends’ stuff, though -- she’s burning a stack of photos from Darryl of this universe’s equivalent of Hebecca, because she’s struggling with much the same multitude of emotions we saw her wrangle in 4x09. (As an aside: in this universe, the baby is named Bianca, meaning ‘white’ -- a reference to Whitefeather and White Josh.) The baby was born the night she was arrested, so even more so than what we got in canon Rebecca has been happily pretending she doesn’t exist for the last three years. Add to her internal unrest the fact that half the town has already gone up in flames -- she’s not just dealing with the existence of her biological daughter, but the fact that her life could very well be in danger. So almost understandably, Rebecca decides to Nope out of that mental mess in typical destructive Bunch fashion.

He notices the way she’s favouring her left arm, tucking it into her chest and his nostrils flare as he snatches at it, yanking her closer so he can see.

“Ow!”

“You burned yourself? Jesus Christ, Rebecca.”

Grip like iron around her elbow he drags her over to the dining table where she’s been keeping her collection of makeshift water vessels; tripping over her own feet from the angry force of him Rebecca yelps, aiming a protesting kick towards his shins in self-defence but stumbling in the process, coming to an abrupt stop when he shoves her forearm down into the portable foot spa Valencia had gifted her as a pre-wedding present so many moons ago.

“Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she snaps, and only then does he let her go, her skin imprinted faintly with red where he’d been holding her.

“Oh, sorry, I’m hurting you? You seem to be doing a pretty good job of that yourself.”

She scowls, but keeps her hand submersed in the tub anyway, the room-temperature water for the most part ineffectual at soothing any of the sting.

Nathaniel closes his eyes and tries to calm himself, tries to breathe through his heart beating hard like it’s going to break through his chest on overdrive. They’re both a little panicked, he knows; fraught with fire-related tension and highly strung, and as his pulse slows back to a steady throb he feels the shame creep in at adding to her distress—it’s never been his intention to frighten her. His own brief flare of terror still strums insistently in his fingertips, though, and he can’t keep the accusation out of his voice.

As we find out a little later, once the tequila gets involved, the last three years haven’t exactly been kind to Nathaniel. He left West Covina to move on, but he’s still very much affected by the pervasive sense that he’s doomed to feel like he’s losing Rebecca over and over again -- when you take her suicide attempt, their two break ups, her pleading guilty and then later taking him off her visitor’s list into account and add all to that the fact that the way she re-entered his life was in a hospital bed, the dude’s understandably got a bit of a complex going by this point. I hesitated at having him get so (however briefly) physical with her, but I think the important distinction here is that it’s nothing to do with anger. She’s just scared the absolute shit out of him, again, and he’s course-corrected a little too hard in trying to protect her.

“What the hell, Rebecca?” he demands. “You are crazy. You could have gotten us both killed.”

“I know! I am crazy. I’m losing my fucking mind, Nathaniel. Because I’ve spent the last three years of my life behind bars and now I’m finally out I’m just trapped all over again. I just want to start over but I can’t, because I’m stuck in this stupid town, and now I’m stuck in this stupid apartment with all this stuff, with you, and with all these reminders of everything I’ve missed and I feel like I can’t breathe.” She pulls her arm out of the flooded foot spa and gestures erratically at her chest, sending out a spray of dislodged droplets, eyes wild and wide and welling with tears. “I’m suffocating and I don’t want to be in here anymore. I can’t…”

If Nathaniel’s feeling the cabin fever at being trapped, Rebecca’s feeling it tenfold. If it weren’t a violation of her parole, she wouldn’t even be in the state right now, so her current circumstances are A Lot. So while it was mostly about her complicated feelings regarding what she’s missed out on in her absence, her starting the fire had an undercurrent of self-sabotage to it, too.

She lets out a strangled sob before promptly bursting into tears, crumpling forward, collapsing against him and burying her head in his chest. Force of nature that she is it’s so easy to forget how small she is until she’s tucked against him, over a head of height difference and two years of uneasy silence between them.

“Please. I just—I just want to get out of here,” she hiccups into his shirt, hands fisting in the fabric. “I feel like I can’t—”

“Breathe,” he says quietly, cradling the back of her head on autopilot. “Hey. Just breathe.”

He’s never really consoled anybody before but it seems like he’s doing something right; her hand not nursing the burn pulls tighter at his shirtfront but her choked sobs ease somewhat, her breathing eventually slowing into synchronisation with the gentle back and forth of his palm across her shoulder blades. For a half-second he thinks he should be disgusted by way she’s snivelling into his shirt but the disdain never comes; all he feels is an unexpected rush of latent tenderness for her and the overwhelming urge to encase her firmly in his arms.

Hugs!!!! Emotionally overloaded hugs!!!! An R/N staple. That is all.

She’s embarrassed, so embarrassed, not just about the fire but the hopeless way she’s clinging to him and she can’t bring herself to let go because she doesn’t want to see his face or let him look at hers, doesn’t want to look at anything in the apartment for a moment longer. Her nostrils fill with the familiar scent of him as she inhales deeply, shakily, and crushes her nose into his collarbone.

“You’ve been through a lot, Rebecca,” he murmurs into the crown of her head. “You’re going to survive this too. I promise.”

It’s the softness in his voice that finally gives her the courage to pull away, rubbing the back of her palm across her snotty nose and glancing up at him with wet, abashed eyes.

He steps back but moves his hands to her waist, holding her gently as if he’s not entirely convinced she can keep herself upright.

Up until this point their every interaction has been rife with tension -- a mixture of unavoidable sexual tension and the resentment they’re each carrying over how certain things have played out between them -- but here they stop and take a breath together, and it’s kind of like the fire in the kitchen was the high-pressure crucible that’s made reforging their dynamic possible. Rebecca’s letting herself be vulnerable, rather than angry, and Nathaniel -- dumb smitten dweeb that he is -- has just melted at their physical contact.

“Truce?” she surprises herself by offering with an ungraceful sniff, not much more than a mumble but he hears it all the same.

There’s a beat, and then he drops his arms away from her and nods. “Truce.”

His eyes don’t leave her back as he stands there mutely, watching her make her way across the room to rummage through some boxes in the corner until she finds what she’s looking for and turns back to face him.

She sniffs again, and raises the bottle.

“Drink some three year old tequila with me?”

Because adding alcohol to the mix is always a good idea!!

#catty-words #replies #my fic #dvd commentary meme #thaaaanks #i'm not feeling very articulate today but hopefully this is some level of interesting insight

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